I’m not feeling very creative lately, so when the new prompt appears I look for something I wrote previously. First I check poasts here, then current poetry on my laptop, and when all else fails, I scour the archives. Apparently I don’t use the word “miniature” very often. Something did come up though, from the private blog I kept during my mother’s illness.
I pulled up the entire document and began reading. Even though I’ve read it before, it’s been a while, and I always find something new. What totally surprised me today is that not only was I continuing to go to the gym I belonged to while my mom was dying, but I was also taking a yoga class there. I have absolutely no memory of this. Whenever I talk about yoga, I always say the last time I did any was when I was in my 20s and working for Avery in Pasadena. (I’ve just begun doing a yoga DVD this week however.) I’m trying to recall anything about that yoga class in 2007-2008… and I simply cannot. Nothing. Blank.
According to my private blog, on Sunday, April 6, 2008, the hospice nurse told me that my mom was ready to go, probably that day (it would be one week later). This is what I wrote, minus the first few sentences about my father’s checking account and such:
She was talking, sort of. I think she knew I was there. She said different things, most of which were unintelligible, and the words I could understand didn’t make much sense. They increased her morphine to 30 mg per hour with unlimited boosts, so whenever she appears the least bit uncomfy, the nurse can push the button. Just two weeks ago she was at 3.0 max per hour.
Nurse said she was doing pretty well for a pancreatic cancer patient as far as pain relief. I don’t want to think about that, about people screaming for days.
I’m going back over there at 8:00. The girls want to come, too. I didn’t encourage it, but I’m not saying no either. What if nothing happens? Then again, how can this go on?
She looks so awful. Now I finally understand a little about the “innocence” thing I always deride. I want to protect my children from seeing that. It’s irrational, but there it is anyway. I’m not going to do it though. They want to be there, and one of them is almost an adult.
Someone over there has one of those exotic cats. I saw it in the window as I walked back to my car this afternoon. Fucking coolest thing I’ve ever seen. Like a miniature leopard. Why am I thinking about that?
It’s hard to really accept she’s gone. That she’ll never criticize me again. Bizarre.
Her voice is still right there in my head.
I hardly ever think about how much she criticized me anymore. I just miss her. She had so many good qualities; so what if she nagged me to wear lipstick. Why did that bother me so much? I’ve never been insecure. It was just annoying at the time. Mostly it was annoying because she’d interrupt while I was saying something else to remind me about the lipstick, and I knew she hadn’t been focusing on my conversation. But I don’t care about any of that now. I just wish she’d been around longer.
Nowadays I don’t put a comma in front of too because DR said to stop.
So, the miniature leopard kitties. They’re gorgeous. All designer cats are. Wouldn’t it be great to have $2,000+ to spend on an exotic mini-tiger who could grace your home with its lithe jungle beauty, but would be tame and cuddly and sweet and wouldn’t eat you?
If you want a feline to love, go to your local shelter and adopt an adorable moggie who desperately needs a home… before it gets euthanized. Don’t support cat breeding!
Via The Daily Prompt: Miniature